“I had just as lief, dear.”
George rose, letting his paper slide to the floor.
“Well,” he said, “they are all out on the front door-step, and I think some of the neighbors are there, too. We might run over a moment. It is too hot to stay in the house, anyway.”
But when George and Lily came alongside the Stillman house the laughter was hushed, and there was a light in Aunt Maria's bedroom, and lights also in the chambers behind the drawn curtains.
“We are too late,” said George. “They have gone to bed.”
“I think they have,” replied Lily, looking up at the lighted bedroom windows. Then she added, “I will go over there any evening you wish, dear,” and looked at him with that unfailing devotion which unreasonably angered him.
He answered her quite roughly, and was ashamed of himself afterwards.
“It is a frightfully monotonous life we lead anyhow,” said he, as if she, Lily, were responsible for it.
“Suppose we go away a week somewhere next month,” said Lily.
“Well, I'll think of it,” said he, striding along by her side. Even that suggestion, which was entirely reasonable, angered him, and he felt furious and ashamed of himself for being so angered.